


Curtain Call

by Midna127



Category: Luigi's Mansion (Video Games)
Genre: Backstory, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Headcanon, Past Violence, Running Away, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midna127/pseuds/Midna127
Summary: This torturous show must end somehow.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Curtain Call

There was nobody on the set.

Nobody wanted to be there.

Only the director stood there, feeling as lonely as the heartbroken maiden would have been in his script.

It was all he wanted to read nowadays. The barrage of negative reviews for his recent films were too frequent, and he needed a break from hearing about being a "has-been". A "wasted potential". A "puny, worthless director."

That's all.

He worked his tail off writing what would be the comeback of the century. The director had dabbled in many different genres before (disaster, horror, and war alike), and he was painfully aware of how successful they were now more than ever. And though they weren't as successful as the other genres that he had experimented in, the man had wanted to make his next project a romantic comedy. Or, as the mainstream referred to it, a romcom.

There would be humor everyone would find funny. A romance everyone would want to root for. Enough room on the unhinged door for the two of them to fit. And he would hear words that he had wanted to hear for the past few years.

"Morty's back at it again with another hit!" "See how natural their relationship grows, and Morty's never even been in one! Only a pure genius could pull this off, and he did!" "I want to be just like Morty when I grow up!"

That is, if anyone actually wanted to work on it with him.

He admitted his most recent work, which was a different horror movie revolving around ghosts, wasn't that good. But it was slandered by top Hollywood critics. Somehow, whatever respect people had for him was gone. It was entirely unrealistic for this kind of backlash to exist, and yet somehow it was. He merely put pen to paper, and it eventually led to him being disregarded by directors, actors, critics, the public, and everyone in between.

Beforehand, it was said that he would become the greatest director to ever live. That he would outdo everyone else in the industry. But somehow the movie squandered that chance. And now he had no way to redeem himself. Nobody would give him any of their time or interest.

Nobody wanted to invest in what was the air he breathed and the blood that circulated through his body.

There was no point for him to go on if nobody cared.

So he decided not to.

He had no desire to die through the pills that tried to cloud his dark thoughts, or by the blades meant for making props and set pieces by professionals that used to like him.

No. He'd die by the very set he worked hard to create. Sure, it was a series of props recycled from his previous works set in front of a green screen, but it was a set nonetheless. He would die alone with his work.

Morty knew one of the spotlights was loose, and that any moment, it'd come crashing down. He stood directly under it, waiting for the moment to come.

A part of him wanted to step out of the way. To go tighten the fixture, grab something to eat, anything. Would it be too late to get something at the corner store? He had lost track of the time.

There's no way to forget any of this. He was a failure then, and a failure now. His feet pounding hard against the pavement, sobbing hard because of his failing grades. Coming home with bruises and a split lip after being outed by his peers. Those thoughts.

Those thoughts.

Was he only loved now for his creations? Or, rather, then? Was there ever love to begin with?

His mind was silent for a moment. Well, as silent as his ever-moving mind could be.

Did he ever experience love?

Morty closed his eyes and gently wrapped his arms around himself, just as he did when he was a child.

He felt warm.

The feelings he felt in that brief moment were more than anyone gave to him personally throughout his life.

He felt something fall on his head and experienced a bit of vertigo.

Yet, somehow, he was still standing.

And his hug suddenly got cold.

Morty opened his eyes. Confused, he unwrapped his arms. He then noticed the beautiful blue aura emitting from his body. His new blue skin.

Skin?

Body?

No, it couldn't be. He could see through his hands. Morty looked down, gasped, and immediately looked back up, tears welling up in his eyes.

The director didn't have the heart or stomach, literal or otherwise, to take in the bloody mess beneath.

He had to leave. He had to get out of there. He made a mistake he couldn't undo. He needed to do something.

Morty couldn't run, due to a newfound tail instead of legs, but he quickly made his way out of the building. Someone else would have to deal with the sticky blood, shattered equipment, and broken body.

After a blurry mess of trees, buildings, and such (Morty was thankful for not needing stamina to go this quickly), he stopped to take in his surroundings. Much to his dismay, there was nobody in the field like him. Nobody was there to begin with.

The director rested up against a tree, like how he used to, only to fall through it and come out from the other side. Morty looked back at it and sighed.

He scratched his bald head, trying to figure out where he could go to stay for the night. Could he even sleep anymore? The ghost began to miss the feeling of lying in his bed.

He missed the warmth.

Tearing up again, he hugged himself, hoping to bring the feeling back, only to no avail. Knowing he wouldn't make any more progress by this, he kept onwards.

He kept telling himself that someday, he'd find a place for ghosts. A house for himself, or even a mansion full of beings like him.

But then again, what were the odds of that happening?

**Author's Note:**

> Both a vent fic and a headcanon I've had of him for a long time.


End file.
